


Protecting the Prince (And Other Chores)

by shireness



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Enchanted Forest, Belle/literally anyone else 2k18, F/M, Prince!Killian, knight!emma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 05:47:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13652679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shireness/pseuds/shireness
Summary: Prince Killian is a pain in Emma Swan's ass, but it's her job to protect him, all the same.





	Protecting the Prince (And Other Chores)

“I always heard that the prince was handsome, but no one ever told me you were so charming,” the bar floozy simpers, and Emma can’t help but roll her eyes. Well, honestly, she wants to do a whole lot of things, including vomit. But the eye roll is the option most socially acceptable.

On paper, she’s working the opportunity of a lifetime, acting as the personal guard to the brother of the King of Misthaven. Especially considering her humble roots. Raised by a pair of wolf women, trained by a family friend, Emma had been working in the castle’s kitchens as a serving girl when the Dark One’s minions had staged an attack, surprising everyone. Unfortunately, that included Prince Killian’s previous personal guard, who was passed out at the kitchen counter as his charge tried to talk the cooks into providing him a mid-day dessert. So instead, Emma herself grabbed the snoring idiot’s sword and held off their attackers with minimal assistance from His Highness until reinforcements arrived, securing herself one hell of a promotion in the meantime.

Now, she gets to watch as the man second in line for the throne is a matter of inches away from being fondled in a tavern. Emma doubts that’s the whole story though. While one hand certainly is creeping higher and higher on his thigh, quick approaching his crotch, the woman’s other hand is just as quickly approaching the pouch of coins Prince Killian keeps at his side. And he’s far too focused on the former to notice the latter. For better or for worse, it’s time for Emma to step in.

Emma quickly fishes a knife out of her boot and approaches the table, pressing the weapon to the woman’s side. “I believe, miss, that you’d do well to watch your hands,” she speaks lowly into the woman’s ear, and can immediately see the flash of recognition in her eyes. She knows precisely what’s going on. Unfortunately, the Royal Numbskull does not.

“Swan,” he protests, “the lady and I were just now getting acquainted…”

“Actually, the lady was just leaving,” Emma replies, sickly sweet. “Isn’t that right, miss?”

The woman glowers back at her. “Yes, ma’am,” she replies, stalking off. If anyone cares to see what just happened, they’ll just think it’s a spat between jealous ladies.

Still, she mutters back a “Sir…” under her breath. They’d tried to bestow a proper title upon her when she was made the prince’s guard, but Emma had refused ‘Dame’ (she’s not sixty, thank you), and she’s certainly no ‘Lady’. So, on paper, she’s Lady Emma Swan, but in practice, she’s Sir Emma, thank you very much.

Her charge, of course, is pouting. “What did you do that for, Swan? The tides were turning very much my way.”

Emma snorts in return. “No, Your Highness, dear Bambi there was trying to steal your purse while you were distracted by her other hand.”

The prince huffs, clearly out of responses. He’s also clearly out of luck for tonight – after that display, everyone will assume that she and him are _something_ , and he’s certainly not getting anything from her quarter.

So, instead, she pays the tab, and spends another night escorting a drunken prince home.

Again – only on paper is this the chance of a lifetime.

\------

Killian had been truly excited when Sir Emma was appointed as his personal guard. Even beyond the fact that she’s beautiful and female, Swan is _young_ , which is a welcome change from so many of the other guards he’s had to put up with. Scarlet had been the one exception – a fun guy to get a drink with, more wingman than bodyguard, but that traitor had left him to become second in command of Liam’s network of spies. Killian had hoped that maybe Swan could fill that post, but Emma, instead, is a stick in the mud, insistent on his safety over his freedom, watching him like a hawk and not letting him forget for a single second that he’s not your average man.

He just wants someone who’s less a babysitter and more a partner of crime. Liam gets that with Robin, who is – for all intents and purposes – his best friend. Graham is getting older in years, and should maybe consider retirement, but he and the Dowager Queen have a quiet understanding he knows both of them treasure. Even Belle has Anton watching over her and little Josephine, and while maybe they’re not the best of friends, he knows that there’s a comfort between the young queen and the gentle giant, the latter of whom adores the tiny princess.

Instead, he gets Sir Emma. Joy.

The worst is that he sees glimmers of the kind of person she could be, if she let her guard down for a second. She’s got a wicked sense of humor when she thinks he’s too drunk to remember, usually jokes against him. Sometimes, he’ll catch her smirking at fancy state occasions, clearly just as amused by how ridiculous and fake everyone acts as he is. There’s such hope for her, but she won’t let any personality out for more than a moment. It’s infuriating.

Mostly, he just wishes he didn’t need this surveillance at all. Things had always been tense with the Dark One and his Kingdom, but things really came to a head four years prior when Liam, newly crowned King, had travelled to the Dark Kingdom to re-confirm the non-aggression agreement between the two countries, and met a lovely young maid named Belle – a former paramour of the Dark One. It had been love at first sight for Liam, and though a heartbroken young Belle had only recently come to accept the idea that Rumplestiltskin would never choose love over power, she fell for Liam just as quickly. Unfortunately, the Dark One was not particularly good about letting go of his toys – even those he had cast aside – and upon learning that the Kingdom of Misthaven had aided Belle in her escape, allying with her father’s kingdom to protect the smaller country, he had declared open war upon both kingdoms, and anyone who aided them.

Four years later, Liam and Belle are blissfully happy, with an adorable two-and-a-half-year-old daughter and recently expecting a second child, but security had been raised to higher levels than Killian had ever seen in his lifetime. He’s so happy for them, but in his more bitter moments feels like the country traded its security, and Killian his freedom, in return for their joy.

All the same, he’ll endure even Stick-in-the-Mud Swan if that’s what it takes to ensure his brother’s happiness. Hopefully, they can come to some kind of compromise.

\------

“For fuck’s sake, Your Highness, would you quit that fancy bullshit?” Emma practically growls as the prince decides, once again, to try and counter her advances with a ridiculous spinning move during their daily combat practice. It looks nice, sure, but is practically useless in this context. And he insists on doing it, again and again.

The bastard just grins. “Why, Swan? Jealous of my moves?”

Gods, he just may win this round of sparring, if only because she’s distracted by her frustration. “No, Sir, because that move is useless in most circumstances.”

“Why do you think that? I don’t agree.”

“If you’re on the defense, that spin leaves your sides open to attack. I know you think it’s great for offense because of the momentum, but what if you’re forced to fight someone in a tight space? Or in a crowd? Useless. I’m just trying to keep your ass alive, _Sir_ , and I’d appreciate it if you’d try and take this a bit more seriously. Are you _looking_ to get yourself killed?”

That must be his final straw in a battle of wills she didn’t know he was engaged in, because a glare sweeps his countenance as he – very pointedly – drops his sword, replying to her complaints in the same frustrated tone.

“Maybe not, _Sir Emma_ ,” (and oh, is that intentional, because he never refers to her by her title if he can avoid it) “but I never wanted to be in the middle of this… this diplomatic _shitshow_ in the first place.” And with a barely muttered “excuse me”, he stalks off the practice field, heading for gods-only-know-where.

Fucking _fantastic_.

\------

“She’s such a fucking hardass, you know?” he vents. “Won’t smile, won’t relax, won’t show any damn personality or indication that she’s an actual human being. Just stands there with that stick up her ass, lecturing me about security.”

“In her defense, that is her job.”

By some miracle, Will is in town for a few days and free for a drink, and Liam and Robin had relaxed their insistence on security for just this occasion, knowing Killian would be meeting with the former royal guard. If the man kept Killian alive for a matter of months, he can probably manage an evening without incident.

(Part of that lenience might have something to do with the fact that Killian conveniently forgot to mention that he intends to get properly trashed, but that small, neglected detail is neither here nor there.)

It’s all perfect, because Killian is _tired_ of Swan’s disapproving shadow. He wants to hang out with his mate and have a few too many drinks and maybe find a young lady to engage in some less-than-proper fun with and generally pretend for a single night that he’s just an average man.

Unfortunately, Will isn’t playing along with the ranting part of the evening quite as well as Killian would like. He’ll nod along and put on a sympathetic face, but keeps telling Killian that Swan is just trying to do her job.

(“In her defense, you are far more determined to be independent that is advisable for someone who needs a personal guard.”)

They still manage to have fun, regardless of the rocky start. Both men manage to get themselves well and truly drunk, and when the seductive brunette Killian has been flirting with all night invites him to a room nearby, Scarlet sends him off with a chuckle and a wave.

Perhaps this night is looking up after all.

\------

Emma knows the prince went out drinking with Will Scarlet the night before after his blow-up on the practice grounds, so she’s willing to let him sleep a little later so as to maybe avoid the worst of the hangover irritability. But when he still hasn’t made an appearance by 11:30, she begins to get worried. From a purely professional standpoint.

A search of his apartments shows the man is nowhere to be found. Further investigation (okay, interrogation of that imbecile Scarlet, but semantics) reveals that he opted to abscond to a room at the nearest inn with a young lady the night before.

And that’s when the real panic begins.

While Scarlet had specified “the nearest inn”, he didn’t actually know the name, and the pair had been drinking in an area of the capital with multiple lodging options nearby. All of which Emma and a detachment of guards will have to check until they find the royal dumbass – each and every room.

She’s almost happy to see the prince when he’s discovered two hours later. That is, of course, until she notices that a) he’s tied up on the room’s small bed, b) he’s buck-ass naked, and c) his coin purse is nowhere to be found. No pun intended. Whoever he came back with the night before knocked him out, tied him up, and stole all his money.

And then, through the relief, comes sharp anger. This is the obvious proof that he hasn’t been paying attention to a damn word she’s been saying about being careful about thieves – the royal pain-in-the-ass has gone and gotten himself robbed.

Of course, the son of a bitch is entirely unrepentant about his current situation.

“Hello, beautiful!” he calls when she appears in the doorway. “I’ve been waiting for you to show up!”

And that’s her limit. She has dealt with a lot since this position started a six months ago, what with how Prince Killian completely does not take seriously the necessity for protection, but his utter cavalierness about being kidnapped and robbed really takes the cake.

“Excellent,” she replies in an icy tone. “Then you can wait a little while longer.”

She walks right back out that door, back down to the street, and feels no shame for it. Let the other men deal with untying the ungrateful prick and pulling together all his clothing. Emma Swan has had enough.

\------

Killian pulls on his pants hurriedly, and with no small amount of embarrassment, after one of the soldiers finally releases him from his bonds. It’s easy enough to tell that Emma is mad at him – it doesn’t take a genius to realize that after she stormed out of the room and left him still bound and naked. But he’s not quite sure why. His words maybe weren’t as grateful as she deserves, but hell, can’t she tell he’s just trying to deflect, make the situation a little less awkward? There’s something especially humiliating about waking up with your privates on full display and unable to do anything about it.

He barely stumbles out the door of the inn before Swan pushes off the outer wall, striding away back towards the castle at a brisk pace. “Slow down, Swan!” he calls, but she continues like she never heard him, forcing Killian to have to hustle to catch up. “Hey!” he barks as he finally pulls up even with her. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

It’s definitely the wrong choice of words. But it’s been a clusterfuck of a morning and Emma is certainly not doing anything to help. Still, it should be less of a surprise when Emma whips to face him with pure rage in her eyes.

“What the hell is wrong with _me_?” she demands. “What the hell is wrong with _you_? _I_ have been trying to do my job, which isn’t made any easier by your ridiculous, stupid antics. You’re so stuck on the fact that you don’t want a guard, hate that you have to have someone watching you, that you’ve stopped thinking about anyone but yourself. I know you wanted a best friend or something stupid like that, but this is my _job_ , Your Highness, and it’s infuriating that you won’t take me or my position seriously! It’s hard enough to keep you out of harm’s way without you practically telling me ‘took you long enough’. We thought you could be _dead_ this morning, or taken prisoner by agents of the Dark One, and it was terrifying for everyone. Have you ever even stopped to think about what my job means to your other family members? How devastated your mother and brother and sister-in-law and niece would be if anything happened to you? That I do my job just as much for them as for you? No, of course not, because that would get in the way of your whining about not being able to do whatever you want. Well, tough shit, sir.” At that last statement, she’s forced to stop for breath, while Killian stands there struck dumb. However, her pause has clearly not affected her level of anger in the least. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, _sir_ , I don’t think I’m in the right state of mind to do my job properly, and will be taking the rest of the day. Since you’re so fine on your own, I’m sure you won’t have any trouble making your way back to the castle. Excuse me.” And in a whirl of fury and blonde hair, she’s gone, angrily striding down the street.

And Killian is left standing in the middle of the road, feeling like he’s truly stepped in it now.

\------

Liam is disappointed. Of _course_ Liam is disappointed. Killian wishes he could attribute such feelings to fatherhood, but unfortunately, his brother’s sanctimoniousness dates far further back than that. Not to mention, little Helena is only two and a half – no chances yet to warrant that particular brand of disappointment. But Killian has to sit through a speech about how Liam “expects smarter choices” from him and gets lectured about how “Mother and Belle were worried sick”. It’s nothing he hasn’t heard before, practically begging him to act more responsibly, and Killian is distracted anyways with the way things currently stand with Swan. So he nods along and takes his leave when it seems his brother has finally run out of things to say, retiring to his own chambers for the rest of the day.

The real inquisition comes the next day, when he meets his mother and Belle for lunch. Thankfully, there’s less scolding on the matter of getting himself robbed – though his mother does make a point of saying “Oh, Killian, when are you going to stop just trusting these girls?” However, they more than make up for any leniency in the former matter by scolding him for how he treated Swan. The lady in question is back on the job today, but things are still tense, and she’s clearly still angry with him. And because this entire damn castle is a hotbed for gossip, Graham knows about their disagreement, and what Graham knows, the Dowager Queen knows and will tell Belle. And then they’ll come together as an unstoppable force to shame him for his actions. That’s just the way things work.

“Shame on you, Killy!” his mother frowns. “That girl is trying her hardest. I thought I taught you to be more grateful than that.”

“I know, I know,” he mutters. The whole thing is bad enough, but then Belle chimes in with her own contribution.

“She was truly worried, you know,” his sister-in-law adds with a pointed look. “Emma, I mean. None of us could find you and she really did seem genuinely concerned. Not just for her job, but for you as a person.”

If he didn’t feel bad already, he feels awful now, which he’s sure is the entire point of this conversation. The only saving grace is that Emma is still so mad at him that she volunteered to watch the hallway to continue avoiding him, leaving Graham and Anton to watch over everyone in the room. At least she wasn’t present for the dressing down he just received.

(Then again, his mother and Belle are well enough behaved that they probably wouldn’t have brought up the issue if Emma was around to hear it.)

He usually enjoys lunch with his family, but today, he can’t leave fast enough, and it’s with no small amount of relief that he remembers an appointment with Liam after their meal is completed, all but fleeing the room.

\------

Emma is doing her best to avoid the prince.

Well, maybe avoid isn’t the word. This is her job after all – she can’t just move in the opposite direction whenever she sees him coming. But he’s trying to mend fences, turning up the charm and trying to make conversation, even if she is having even less of it than usual, providing two-word answers at best. At least he hasn’t tried to return to any of the local taverns in the past few days; Emma can’t be certain what kind of reaction from her that would have resulted in, but she’s sure it would have been loud. And negative. And possibly violent. Honestly, whenever she can, she’s just passed responsibility for him off to others – his family’s protection details when he’s visiting with them, or the copious amount of guards present if he’s part of a council meeting or public court hearings. It’s unprofessional, she knows, but she needs a chance to cool down, and it’s not like she’s leaving him without any protection to speak of.

Tonight, though, she can’t weasel away. It’s Queen Alice’s birthday, and Liam had arranged for a ball to celebrate, complete with a sumptuous dinner and visiting nobles and royalty and, of course, dancing. This isn’t Emma’s scene, not by a long shot; she’s been more comfortable in some practical breeches and vests since she was old enough to dress herself. But with so many important people present, it’s all hands on deck, and Emma’s forced to look the part. The other members of the guard have a dress uniform in a shade of royal blue, but as of yet, Emma doesn’t – something stupid about gender roles and it’s a whole debate with the council that they still haven’t resolved. So for tonight, she’s stuck in a dress: blue, like the uniform, with a scooped neck and skirts loose enough to hide a series of daggers underneath. She has a sword strapped to her waist as well, but it’s a more decorative model than the day-to-day, and she suspects less practical in an actual attack.

The good news is that His Highness seems to be on his best behavior tonight. Normally, he spends his evenings at events flirting with all the young ladies, leaving a trail of broken hearts and the occasional diplomatic snafu if he ends up sweet-talking another noble’s sweetheart. Tonight, though, he’s keeping a lower profile – mostly sticking to conversing with the other young men his age, and only taking some of the older guests for a turn on the dance floor. Emma can’t imagine what has spurred this adjustment, even if it is likely temporary; perhaps he received a dressing down about his behavior from his mother or the King.

She’s happy to stick to the sidelines most of the night, rotating between several vantage points, but the Prince seeks her out later in the evening.

“A dance, milady?” he inquires, and Emma just fixes him with a look. A very good look, she thinks, one that should ask what the hell he’s doing. But he’s just as stubborn, and only raises an eyebrow and offers a hand. So she – reluctantly – takes the proffered limb, and allows him to lead her out on the floor.

“I can’t dance, you know,” she mutters, only to be met with a grin in response.

“That’s alright, Swan,” he replies in a low voice, “You just need a partner who knows what he’s doing. And lucky you, I’m offering.”

She rolls her eyes but assumes the proper position all the same. Luckily, this is a slower number – not only should that be easier for her, but the slow speed should keep her sword from swinging out in dangerous directions too badly. She’d be content to simply pass the minutes in silence, but her charge clearly has other plans.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he states, and Emma can’t find in herself to pretend otherwise.

“Yes.”

“You’re angry with me. And it’s entirely warranted.”

“Yes.”

He nods, taking a minute to collect his thoughts before continuing.

“I know… I know an apology isn’t nearly adequate in making up for the way I’ve treated you. But I’m going to try and be better, Swan, more considerate, I swear. I’ve been thoroughly reprimanded and made to see the error of my ways this week. I only hope you can forgive me, going forward. You truly are very skilled at your job, and I know you’re just trying to keep me safe, even if I don’t act like it.”

Emma’s lie detector tells her he isn’t lying; he truly means the words he says, at least in this moment. But she’s still irritated enough to want to leave him wondering, at least for a bit.

“I’ll think about it.”

It’s the best he’s going to get. He seems grateful all the same, and they’re able to pass the rest of the dance in a slightly less awkward silence.

Only time will tell if he follows through on his words.

\------

The thing is, he really does try.

She isn’t expecting much when he says he’s going to do better – even if he’s genuine when he gives her the words, that doesn’t mean his efforts won’t trail off over time. But he really is making an effort. His visits to the local taverns dwindle, and he starts being more diligent about attending council meetings and other diplomatic business. Of course, he doesn’t stop flirting with every young lady in his path – that’d take a true miracle, one Emma isn’t capable of yet – but he does stop going home with them, which in itself is progress. Best of all – at least to Emma – he stops viewing her as some sort of adversary, and more of a companion (albeit, a companion with a very important job to do).

She really almost… _likes_ him, though she hates to admit it. When he drops that cocky exterior, she’s pleasantly surprised to find that they’re not so different, especially in how they’re driven by an innate independent streak that resents trying to be forced into any boxes.

(“If you had your way, what would you want to do with your life?” she asks one relaxed evening, sitting in the library after listening to his gripes about the day.

He doesn’t even have to think. “I’d be a sailor.”

“A sailor?”

“A sailor,” he nods. “I’ve always loved the sea, and seeing new places. Meeting new people. Good physical work, if you can imagine that of me. I was actually supposed to get a commission to join the Navy, you know.”

It’s news to her. “What happened?”

He shrugs, like it’s not a big deal, even though she can tell the exact opposite is the case. “Father died, and Liam needed me here. And then Liam met Belle and this whole mess with the Dark One began… it’s one thing to let the heir apparent join the Navy during peacetime, an entirely different thing when there’s a war.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s no matter.” It is, but she’ll let it pass, let him redirect the conversation. “And you? What did a little Swan want to do with her life?”

It’s her turn to smile ruefully. “Not everyone has the luxury of dreaming, Your Highness. Some of us just have to settle for whatever work is available.”)

No, she may not have expected him to actually try and do better. But it’s the most pleasant kind of surprise when he does.

\------

Killian doesn’t expect to like Emma Swan.

It seems especially unlikely, considering that they basically start out as adversaries. But it’s true; he likes the way she keeps sweets in her pocket for his niece and rolls her eyes at the council’s more outlandish suggestions and sneaks him down to the shore when he gets a little too heartsick for the ocean.

Beyond that, she’s simply a good person – better than she likes to pretend. Killian realizes now that so much of her uptight personality was a direct reaction to his refusal to take her or her job seriously – trying to be a model guard, doing things strictly by the rulebook, in hopes that even if he didn’t like her, he could at least respect her. The funny thing is, he respects her more now that she allows herself to be a real person. Their conversations may be halting, at first, but over time, there grows to be no one he’d rather spend time with (except maybe his little niece, but she’s also three years old and adorable, and a man can be excused for that). They understand each other, he’s shocked to discover, despite vastly different personalities.

He really doesn’t think about how close they’ve become until the National Day incident. In past years, he’s been able to beg off, but with Mother retiring from many public functions (“I’m an old lady, Killian, there’s no need for me to be hiking all over the city in some parade.”) and Belle ensconced in the castle with the new baby (a strapping lad named Christopher, healthy as a horse and loud as a banshee), there’s no weaseling out of the event this year. So he and Liam are dispatched to the city to ride in the parade and mingle with their subjects for the day before a massive feast, dancing, and fireworks in the evening. Emma, of course, comes with him, as does Robin for Liam and a whole slew of other security.

It’s still not enough, though. There’s some kind of disturbance on the planned route to board the float, so Emma diverts him down a side road. Somewhere along the line, he’s separated from Liam, and they’re left with only a pair of young men to protect him. And it shouldn’t be a problem, but Emma starts looking more and more nervous, and several rough looking men keep walking closer and closer, trying to box their little group in, and before he knows it, they’ve walked right into the middle of an ambush.

This isn’t the first time his life has been in immediate danger – hell, he and Emma met because of a previous attack – but every time there’s a feeling of panic he hasn’t gotten used to suppressing. It feels like there’s more of them than usual, which doesn’t help his panicked feelings. Killian likes to consider himself quick on the draw, reaching for the sword at his side almost immediately (well, ok, it’s a ceremonial rapier that’s probably more decorative than useful, but it will do in a pinch), but when he turns back around – at the same time as the other two guards, he’s pleased to note – Emma’s already engaging the first assailant, and attempting to keep the others back with wide sweeps of her weapon like he’s been advised against so many times in sparring practice.

His world quickly settles into a pattern of clashing metal, fighting back-to-back with Emma. Her first assailant has been dispatched, he notices out of the corner of his eye, but there’s still six more to deal with, and he and Emma’s backups are still so young, so green, that he finds that it’s largely Emma and himself pulling the most weight. Killian goes for disarmament, for a blow that will knock his adversaries out without killing them so that they can be questioned later, but Emma is ruthless, going for the kill every time, without preamble, mercy, or toying with them. They’re an effective team, actually – Killian knocks one into a wall and clobbers another over the head, while Emma’s managed to severely wound another. The young guard is fighting valiantly, but he’s so obviously young, and terrified, that Killian finds himself trying to protect the younger man and shooing the other guard away to find more backup. Emma’s still engaging one more attacker as Killian distracts another, trying to strategize how he can get his poor terrified guardsman to a safe corner to hide, when he spots the third and final attacker, the one he had previously lost track of and had frankly hoped retreated, re-emerge from around a corner with a knife in hand, ready to throw it straight at Swan.

And Killian’s world slows to a crawl.

He doesn’t even remember striking a blow to the stomach of the man in front of him, barely processes that Emma’s just knocked out her own attacker and is smiling smugly at his crumpled body, just knows that he has to get to her – that Emma is in danger and losing her is not an option. So he puts on a burst of speed and yanks her out of the way as the knife whizzes by.

They hit the ground with a hard thud, Killian’s body cushioning her fall, and time snaps back to it’s usual motion. Vaguely he registers the sound of their backup arriving to assist. At any other time, in this same position with Emma’s body covering his, he might have made a quip about her throwing herself into his arms, but he’s far too concerned with checking her over for injury to spare the thought. The panic stirs again when he sees a bloody gash on her arm – it seems the knife grazed her after all – but she sees the franticness in his eyes and rushes to allay it.

“I’m alright, Sir. It’s just a scratch. Just a scratch, Your Highness. Your Highness? Killian!”

It’s his name on her lips that snaps him back to reality and out of the spiral his brain was entering.

“I’ll be just fine. Don’t you worry about me, Sir.”

He heaves a sigh of relief and forces himself not to clutch her tighter, instead gingerly sitting up and allowing her to help him stand. All around him, members of his brother’s army have secured the would-be assassins, though he notices they only total to six; the knife-thrower must have escaped. Killian worries about that a little, in the back of his mind, but it’s hard to pay much attention when he’s so relieved that Emma’s alright.

And in a sudden flash of understanding, it hits him – the way he’s been thinking of Swan by her name for so long now, the way he prefers her company over almost anyone else’s, the way his heart leapt – still leaps – into his throat at the thought of any harm befalling her…

Killian has feelings for her. And he has no idea what to do with them.

_Shit._

_\------_

The Prince is acting weird.

His behavior always tends to the erratic, his desire to live his own life fueling a variety of decisions made for no better reason than “because he wanted to”, but this is different. It’s like he’s walking around eggshells around her, and it’s pissing Emma off. It’s like he’s trying to create distance – demurring with excuses when she suggests sparring practice, choosing early nights instead of trips to the tavern, throwing himself into every single meeting His Majesty requests he attend even though she knows he hates them, and all seemingly just to avoid talking with her. It’s confusing and infuriating, because Emma has no clue what the hell she’s done to warrant this reaction.

What really sucks is that Emma discovers she _misses_ her interactions with the royal numbskull. As embarrassing as it is to admit, Emma doesn’t really have friends, a childhood brought up in a small cabin in the forest not doing any favors for her social skills. But the one exception, maybe, is Prince Killian. It’s absolutely pathetic, since he’s her boss, but he’s her only real friend. She misses the way he teases her during sparring matches to throw her off her game and sighs a happy little sigh when she sneaks him down to the beach and especially the way she looks forward to every day spent with him, knowing it will be an adventure in its own way. There’s been a distance between them ever since the attack on National Day (an attack that left her praying nothing happened to the prince for reasons that are entirely less than professional), and she has no idea why.

She finally snaps, nearly two and a half weeks later, when he tries to excuse himself for a lunch with his mother that she _knows_ isn’t happening because Emma actually does talk with Graham sometimes, and knows that the Dowager Queen is scheduled to meet with a council of local mayors all day to get new perspectives on the needs of the citizens.

“What the hell is your problem?” she demands, and ok, her approach definitely needs work, but at least they’re going to address this.

“Pardon?” To his credit, he does look genuinely confused, though that does nothing to temper Emma’s frustration.

“This whole… avoiding me bullshit. The fuck is up with that?”

He tries to deflect. “Really, Swan, it’s nothing, don’t worry yourself.”

“Well it doesn’t seem like nothing. You’ve been weird ever since National Day. Is this about the attack? Are you not happy with how I did my job, are you looking to replace me?” The very thought makes her blood run cold.

Thankfully, he looks horrified at the very idea. “Swan, no, how could you even think that?”

“You’ve been avoiding me! How the hell am I supposed to know why when you won’t tell me?”

“I’m so sorry, Emma, but I swear, I’m not angry with you, and I’m certainly not having you replaced. You were an absolute whirlwind, a deadly tornado back there. It just… shook me, I suppose, and I haven’t been handling things as well as I should.”

He’s still not saying something, Emma can tell, but what he has said doesn’t set off her lie detector, so she resolves to let the matter drop for the moment. “Ok, so can we stop with this avoiding me bullshit then?”

His Highness looks a bit sheepish, scratching behind a pink-tinged ear, but he nods all the same, offering a bashful smile. “Aye, no more avoidances.”

And that’s that. Something is still bothering him and affecting him, but they’re mostly back to normal. They’re back to being partners in crime, and life goes on.

\------

(The wounded men from the attack won’t talk, and they never actually find the man who escaped, but both Killian and Emma try to convince themselves that it’s nothing to worry about.)

\------

Emma is one of the steadiest workers he’s ever met, there day in and day out, regardless of how tired she is or how grumpy he is or any other of the myriad factors that makes a person not want to come in to work. So when she asks for a week off – it’s the birthday of one of the women who raised her, and as Emma phrases it, “Ruby will tear me limb from limb if I miss Granny’s birthday” – he willingly grants her request. After all, it’s the least he can do after all the ways she’s saved him.

He borrows Will Scarlet for a week, and tries not to think about Emma too much for fear of becoming pathetic and mopey (it doesn’t work in the least, but hey, he tried). It’s only three days in, and he’s resigned himself to four more without his fierce angel, when an equally fierce and furious (if greying) brunette bursts through the doors and insists on an audience.

“Where is she?” the woman demands, but Killian is so absolutely lost in this conversation. There was no introduction, nothing that would illuminate to him her goals; all he has to go off of is the furious look on her face and whatever information she graces to yell at him.

“Pardon?” he questions back, the only words he can come up with at the moment.

“She wrote last month to say she’d be home for sure, that you gave her fucking _permission_ , so imagine our surprise when she doesn’t show. One day late? I assumed she got held up here. But two? Now three? She wouldn’t just blow off Granny’s birthday, so where the hell is she?”

As the woman finishes her furious rant, something clicks – something that sends shivers racing towards his heart. “Emma? You’re wondering where Emma is?”

The woman who must be Ruby fixes him with a baleful glare, one that would likely terrify him if not for the panic starting to settle in his veins. “Of course I mean Emma, who else would I mean? I’m here to take her home, since you obviously have delayed her.”

“Emma left for home three days ago.”

And that’s when the shit truly hits the fan.

Because if Emma isn’t here, and Emma isn’t where she’s supposed to be, then what’s happened to her?

\------

A search party is quickly organized. It’s evident that Emma disappeared somewhere between the castle and Ruby and Granny’s little cottage; it’s now a matter of combing every inch of the road to try and discover where.

Fortunately – or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it – they discover the likely site of the attack a mere two hours from the castle, halfway between the two locations. Even to the untrained eye, it’s obvious that something has happened here, as evidenced by the bodies of two men and the boot prints of many more. Good for Emma – fighting back with everything she has for as long as she can. That’s his girl. The truly bad news is that both of the dead men are dressed in very recognizable armor – the uniform of the Dark One’s army.

All he can think is that the still-missing man must have made his way back to the Dark Kingdom and told his master all about how stupid Prince Killian practically threw himself in front of a knife to protect this woman, and they might want to capitalize on that. But really, any speculation on that front is far from the point right now; right now, Killian has to worry about organizing a group to go after her and justifying such an action to his brother and _getting Emma back_ because she is _important_ and _everything_ and gods above, Liam had better not stand in his way.

One way or another, he’s determined to bring Emma home.

———

Her prison cell is cold, and damp, and devoid of even a cot, but that’s truly the least of her worries.

Mostly, Emma thinks about the panicked state that Ruby and Granny must be in, now that it’s been over a week since she was supposed to arrive for the latter’s birthday celebration.

(She thinks Killian – _His Highness –_ might be worried too, and that hurts just as much.)

Beyond that, Emma’s body is turning into a collection of injuries. She knows she has broken ribs and a variety of magically inflicted cuts and an assortment of bruises from gloves and boots and invisible blows, but she worries that her wrist might be fractured and dreads that the beatings and torture may only get worse.

The thing is, the Dark One doesn’t seem to _want_ anything; she had prepared herself mentally for being tortured for some sort of information, prepared to do everything in her power to keep them from learning anything, but she’s never asked a single question. They’re just beating her for the sake of it.

Emma hears footprints coming closer and tries to brace herself for another round of… whatever they want to call it, but it’s so hard. She’s tired, and in so much pain, and while she should be digging within herself for a last kernel of strength to withstand whatever her jailers will dole out, all she can bring herself to do is curl herself into a tighter ball, whimpering as it aggravates her ribs, and pray that maybe they’ll pass her cell by.

Unfortunately, her prayers are for naught, as she hears the keys rattle, the door screech open. She’s in the middle of trying to curl herself up even tighter, when she suddenly feels a gentle hand on the back of her head – one of the only places she doesn’t hurt anymore.

It’s with great surprise that she peels an eye open to see the Prince staring down at her, smiling softly and sadly. “Hello, beautiful,” he says, barely above a whisper.

All at once, her body collapses in relief. “Been waiting for you to show up,” she slurs, and earns a soft chuckle for her efforts as he recognizes his words from all those months ago.

“Well, I had a diversion to take care of first, but I’m here now, love.”

(Later, she’ll learn that they used up the only small vial of squid ink that the kingdom had been able to acquire in order to rescue her – the squid ink they had been saving until they had a permanent solution to go along with it, since what use is freezing the Dark One when he’ll regain his mobility within the hour, and return to the warpath?

But they use it anyways to free her, because Killian had begged and pleaded and told Liam that he loved her, and would storm into the Dark Castle himself to get her back, with or without the ink.)

For now, she finally allows herself to breathe a sigh of relief as the prince – Killian – gathers her into his arms as gently as he can to carry her outdoors to the waiting cart.

They’re barely a mile down the road when she falls asleep, draped across his lap with her head buried in his shoulder, as safe as she’s ever felt in her life.

\------

“Oh, he’s charming, too” her voice declares sarcastically through the door, and Killian can’t help but grin.

“Does that mean you’ll let me in?”

Even with the wooden door between them, he can hear her huff. “No, it doesn’t. Gods, you’re stubborn.”

“Now really, is it such a crime for a man to desire to see his soon-to-be wife?”

That, at least, gets her to peek her head out the door, albeit with an irritated look on her face. It’s the wrong time to mention it, but oh, she’s beautiful when she’s angry. “It is when that man is just trying to get a peek at the dress he’ll get to see in two days’ time.”

Despite his heart thumping with adrenaline at the very mention of their impending nuptials, Killian manages to paste on a smirk. “Guilty as charged, then. Come now, Swan, just let me in for a minute, just one peek…”

But his fiery angel stands strong. “No!” Leaning further out the door, she continues in a hiss. “Do you really want to tick off Belle and Ruby? Not to mention your mother, not to mention Granny? Any one of them will have both our heads if I let you in this door!”

She does have a point there. The four women combined have more than enthusiastically thrown themselves into wedding planning, turning into a collective unit of bridal mania. And he knows all their rules about tradition and what he can and can’t do before, during, and immediately after the ceremony, having been lectured several times. Instead of arguing further, he sighs. “Fair point.”

“I know.”

He keeps staring at her as she quirks a brow in question, and he’s suddenly desperate for her company, even if they have only been separated a matter of hours for council meetings and bridal fittings. “What do you say, love, toss on some normal clothes and we’ll escape to the shore? Get away from all this nonsense?”

Emma nods gratefully, motioning him forward to drop a quick kiss on his lips before closing the door again. Seven minutes later (not that he’s counting), she’s back at his side in her breeches and vest, laughing at his impatience and grumbled complaints that he hasn’t had time to be alone with her in _ages_.

“Just think,” she consoles him, “in two days, no matter how ridiculous a ceremony your family stages, it’ll be over and it’ll all be worth it.”

\------

(It is.)

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! I love kudos, comments, and feedback, so don't be shy if you liked this.
> 
> In a little bit of trivia, because I thought way too long about it, Belle and Liam's kids are named after classic children's book characters. Couldn't help myself.
> 
> I very recently have a tumblr - @shireness-says. Come make friends.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
